


Null and Void

by CyberneticFire



Series: The Avoidance of Emotions [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor Whump, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Angst, Anxiety, Aromantic Alastor, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Character, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Isolation, Mild Gore, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Remorse, Self-Harm, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Repulsed Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Starvation, Swearing, Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Violence, void!alastor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22330972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberneticFire/pseuds/CyberneticFire
Summary: Alastor seems to have bitten off more than he can chew this time. Now stuck in the void, he has all the time in the world to think, and solitude doesn't seem to be doing him well...
Series: The Avoidance of Emotions [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607425
Comments: 54
Kudos: 230





	1. Devoid of Music

**Author's Note:**

> This au is based off of @daydream-squad post on Tumblr, and the concept of Void!Alastor goes to them! The headcanons are my own. The second chapter/epilogue should be coming out shortly! Enjoy! :3

Even after death there was always something happening.

There were always sounds, sights, touches, tastes, smells melding together in a range from calm to outright cacophonous. The sound of heels clicking through an empty hall, of a radio crackling to life and weaving its tune into a room. The fiery reds and oranges that made up the backdrop of Hell. The heat that clung to skin and settled somewhere deep in one’s bones, the feel of grabbing, spinning, dancing with another. The bitter bite of a coffee made with someone in mind, the coppery tang of blood fresh from a hunt. The smoky air thick with gunpowder and drugs and every unsavory thing a sinner could ever wish for.

And there was none of that here.

Alastor never imagined he would miss any of it. The places. The sound of _their_ voices. The simple companionship. Why, the very thought of him, the Radio Demon, being so sentimental was ludicrous! No no no, he would have been fine being “double dead”, as Angel so elegantly put it, if it were not for the sheer _nothingness_ around him. The inky blackness of the void left much to be desired, and he was a beacon of red in comparison. The dullness alone might drive him mad.

So, in the beginning, he wandered. He walked until his legs ached and his lungs burned, and then walked further than that because the pain was something different to think about, but that proved to be a fruitless endeavor after a few minutes. Or had it been hours? Days? Time was a rather… fickle thing here. Nevertheless, he needed something else to occupy himself, lest his mind be allowed to drift. A light chuckle escaped at the thought that his eternal torment would be _boredom_ , because truly, that was clever on the higher power’s part. It would seem his second chance had been “life” in Hell and his punishment for dying again was _this_.

How laughably ironic.

“Oh, how I wish there were another to hear this riveting internal monologue!” Alastor cried, arms thrown out wide. Silence greeted him, and he snapped his fingers with a huff, summoning his microphone from which a laugh track sprung to life. He slid easily into his Radio Host persona. “That’s more like it! Now, how about some music, my dearest listeners? There’s nothing quite like jazz to liven up a room!” Waving his microphone with a flourish, he waited expectantly for the sweet sound of music to fill the dead air. A static screech cut through the silence and his ears twitched back at the feedback, his smile tightening at the corners. That was… to be expected, he supposed.

“That’s enough of that,” he chirped, without a loss of enthusiasm, switching between channels until he could determine with certainty that there was no way to get a signal. At that he simply turned down the horrid shrieking until the static was a dull hum in the background. It was better than the silence.

“Oh, how I abhor the quiet…” The void swallowed the words entirely, leaving no echo to bounce back. He could scream if he wanted and the abyss would take his voice and leave him with nothing. “Well, it’s a good thing I have not stooped so low as to divulge my frustrations to the emptiness, haha!”

Really, the whole situation was _hilarious_. He, who originally worked with the idea of redemption to watch others fail, would end up failing himself! He was stuck in this damnation for defending a cause he never should have believed in, while fighting for people he never should have cared about! If Lucifer could see him now, Alastor was sure the king of Hell would be laughing.

He hummed to break the ever-present silence. He didn’t have anything better to do, so why not practice the performances he would never be able to dazzle the clientele with? Alastor took all but a moment to burst into song, swinging himself through the black as though he had a proper audience to please. He was able to go on like that for quite some time, though after the 12th rendition of “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile”, among other classy titles, he found that his trembling body and raw throat left his performances lacking.

“Well,” he sighed, shedding his overcoat and exposing a twitchy black and red tail, “Maybe I shouldn’t have tired myself quite so abruptly!” Dropping into a sitting position, he twisted the metaphorical radio dials within him, letting the static from his microphone warble louder and quieter. “I do have the whole eternity to myself after all!” If the corner of his mouth curled into a sneer at that, he was glad no one else was there to see it. Solitude did have a few perks.

A growl startled Alastor out of his musings. The deer demon’s gaze travelled slowly to his stomach, his eyes as wide as saucers. At least there was _one_ problem he could solve.

“I know a quick meal will perk me right up!” He punctuated the words with a wider smile and a snap of his fingers. He glanced about expectantly, eyes narrowing marginally when… nothing happened.

“How… peculiar.” He snapped again to the same results, the usual warmth of his magic absent from his chest. With a quick shake of his head he dispelled the alarm tickling at the back of his mind and settled himself more comfortably on the ground. “No matter! My powers will return after a short rest, I’m sure.”

Gradually, Alastor’s muscles relaxed along with his smile. If he ignored the fact that he couldn’t summon any of his shadow minions – not that they would be very discernible from the shadows all around him – he could almost forget that something was wrong. Because at the moment, trying to do more than summon his microphone was like pulling from a well of power that wasn’t there. There was a gaping hole inside of him.

Well… he would never admit it if he were incomplete either way. Admitting would be a weakness. And he was _not_ weak.

.

.

.

Alastor realized quickly enough that it was impossible to tell time here. After Lucifer knows how long, his body finally started to display signs of exhaustion, his eyes gaining dark circles, and his feet feeling more like lead with every step; regrettably, even _demons_ needed to sleep. Though the longer he went without light or anything else to keep track of a cycle of some sort, the more he found himself leaning away from the idea. Even though his thoughts were getting increasingly jumbled, he stubbornly refused to succumb to unconsciousness. Thanks to recent events, he doubted his dreams would be very pleasant if he did.

…But a short rest couldn’t hurt. Yes, he needed to be able to think, and he couldn’t think if he walked himself to his double – triple? - death. Alastor’s smile twitched as he lowered himself to the ground to sit, his coat immediately folded and placed neatly beside him.

“It could have been days or weeks, and I wouldn’t know the difference,” he sighed, rolling up his sleeves, frustrated when not even a breeze could be stirred up in this abyss. The lack of stimuli was really beginning to get to him. His entire body itched with pent up energy. There was no one he could touch, could coax into a dance, no furry companion for him to drag into a side hug; there was only him and his microphone. Irritation turned to indifference, making his ears perk up and his tail flick idly back and forth. It was _still_ just him, and no amount of pointing it out would change that fact.

Claws trailed lightly across his arms in a soothing, repetitive motion until he noted – not without a hint of disgust – that he was quite nearly hugging himself. His hands dropped into his lap because the _Radio Demon_ didn’t need comfort.

“No, perish the thought!” He sprung to his feet, ignoring the spots that danced across his vision. “I would never need something as mundane as comfort, ha!” Distractedly, he snatched his overcoat from the floor, clutching the fabric tightly to his chest. “Nonono, I simply need to make my own entertainment…” Legs still trembling, he staggered his way in a random direction, blinking slowly to clear the splotches of black out of his sight. Tremors ran through his claws that burrowed deeper into the red fabric at a more insistent snarl from his stomach.

Smile tensing, eyes widening, Alastor ignored the ever-growing pit in his gut.

“I’ll be fine,” teeth dug into his lower lip. “I can surely keep myself occupied! And _when_ my powers return, I’ll make myself a most wonderful Jambalaya!” Oh, the things he’d do for some Jambalaya…or gumbo…or any meal currently. He was practically drooling over the thought of tearing into some venison. With a shake of his head the thought was dispelled.

 _He would be fine._ He would find a way to eat. He wouldn’t let this abysmal darkness consume him. And he absolutely would _not_ fall asleep.

.

.

.

Always being right, Alastor supposed, had its downsides. For instance, he _knew_ if he let the darkness of sleep claim him that it wouldn’t be restful in the slightest.

When the deer demon jerked awake, terror in his eyes and a scream lodged in his throat, he cursed himself for being right. Sweat glistened on his forehead, plastering clothes to his skin, and he shuddered in revulsion, uncurling from his position on the ground.

Opening his eyes to the same blackness he’d sadly grown familiar with didn’t help at all. _And yet, that didn’t matter_ , he reasoned quickly, struggling to regain control over himself, over his breathing, over his shaking, rebellious body. _He was better than this_.

Alastor sat up straighter. Even while he couldn’t get the crack of a gunshot, the feeling of choking on his own blood out of his head, he forced his smile wider. Letting everything out in one deep breath, his mind finally obeyed the command to be quiet.

Shoving himself to his feet, he briefly remembered to grab his coat before he could lose one of the few things he had left. It wouldn’t do to leave anything behind! However, even standing proved to be bothersome as his legs buckled under his meager weight, and he could only let out a sharp laugh in response.

”Ha, I haven’t been this unsteady since that sickness in 1912!” The words weren’t punctuated with the usual laugh track, and he decided it wasn’t worth the effort to summon his microphone. The humor was lost regardless when his thoughts drifted to the accompanying hand that would rest on his forehead, the fingers that carded gently through his hair. _Her_ sweet voice humming a comforting tune all the while he’d been coughing his lungs out and staring back with a feverish gaze. His mother had been a _doll_ and deserved what she got in going to heaven. Alastor brushed a finger absentmindedly against the wetness trailing down his cheek and tried not to think too hard about what it entailed.

“Now now, none of that,” he chided himself, continuing his endless march after determining that his smile was still stubbornly in place. “I haven’t gotten choked up over my dear mother in decades; why would I start now?”

A sudden stabbing pain in his gut doubled him over in reply. Of course! Hunger always did make him more receptive to emotions, he recalled, straightening himself up once more. A hand settled over his stomach in an effort to quiet the incessant growling.

Alastor was no fool. He knew the gaping hole where his powers should be was there as a result of him being killed by-

 _No._ The deer demon’s eyes narrowed marginally, as he paused mid-stride because he’d rather _not_ think of his proclaimed killer and the power he’d stolen, thank you very much.

 _Regardless_ of the reason for his abilities being rendered null and void, he knew that meant he wouldn’t be summoning more than his microphone – a deeply fixed extension of himself. That meant no props, no books, no music _, no entertainment_.

No food.

Smile widening and fingers curling into his aching stomach Alastor decided that his punishment _was_ a fitting one. Eternal starvation! He’d been stuck with it in Hell and he’d be stuck with it in here! And yet _there_ he could simply whip up a meal or cannibalize some hapless demon if he were feeling desperate. _Here_ , on the other hand _…_ he couldn’t summon so much as a paperclip.

A low chuckle escaped him. This really _was_ the worst punishment. If he would have been thinking of himself, and _only_ himself, like he’d done for the past 80 years, then maybe he’d be dining on a steak of rare venison with liquor on the side for his troubles instead of wasting away in his own personal pocket of the void.

“No,” he sighed, letting his eyes droop into a half-lidded state, “I was aware of the repercussions of my actions as soon as I committed to them. I dare say that I was right in my assessment of all loathsome sinners…” He smoothed his coat over his arm, resuming his unsteady gait into the darkness and summoning his microphone to lean on. “There really is no redemption for us.” His smile softened in the slightest. “I wonder how heartbroken Charlie will be. After all, her little project is still based on the willingness of others like me to get better, and well,” he let out a bitter laugh, “I’m here, aren’t I?” Yes, Alastor would be just _fine._ He could handle himself.

Even as his smile lost its toothy enthusiasm and slipped into something smaller, something more genuine and reminiscent of a different time, he wouldn’t admit to himself that he felt at least an ounce of sadness for their dearest Charlotte Magne.

“The poor doll…” his lidded eyes trailed lower, fixating on the never-ending blackness at his feet. “She should have known better than to care about someone like me.” And if he had grown to care about her and her friends as well… then maybe he _was_ a fool right up until the end.


	2. Devoid of Stability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes, Alastor has long since lost control of his emotions, and the Void continues to be a constant despite its sole occupant's lack of stability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be mindful of the new tags! Stay safe! <3

Alastor may have… miscalculated. Yes, he thought as staggering pain tore through his stomach- he had made a _slight_ oversight.

Alastor had faced starvation before. He was sure he would've been able to deal with it again, but he was _wrong,_ and this was so much worse than before. With no way to tell how much time had already passed – a sinking feeling told him the answer was _a lot_ \- and a whole eternity ahead of him the ache-turned-agony quickly became overwhelming.

That was how he found himself curled up on the ground, hugging his chest, trailing his claws over every rib that poked through his dress shirt – his hands must've been shaking incredibly hard because he kept clawing himself – and squeezing his eyes shut tighter in hopes of sleeping his way through this new hell. He didn't _care_ if he woke up screaming with his heart pounding out of his chest like _every other time he'd tried to rest,_ he just needed any reprieve from the hollow, jagged feeling that had taken up residence in his gut.

Of course, when he'd _wish_ to be unconscious his body would refuse!

“Ha… i-if Husker were here…” His teeth grit together at the thought of his grumpy companion. The one-sided conversations that would turn into late-night discussions when neither felt much like sleeping. The begrudging way Husk had finally gotten used to Alastor's constantly fluctuating touchy moments. “I could certainly use one of his strongest drinks…!” The deer demon’s smile went shaky, his eyes snapping open and flitting about, while he swallowed the bile that threatened to rise out of his dry throat.

With the nausea periodically threatening to make him purge his body of what little energy it had left and his head threatening to crack open with the building pressure of a headache he’d gotten hours – days, weeks, _months?_ – ago, it was a wonder he didn’t go completely insane _._ He wasn’t crazy. He may be hopeless, hurting, _admittedly terrified,_ but he _was not broken._ And if he talked to himself, well, it was _only_ to fill the silence.

“My… Shadow would even make interesting company at this point,” he quipped, tired of his own thoughts chasing themselves round and round pointlessly. “It would likely… cackle at my misfortune but who could blame it?” He let out a sharp laugh. “My inky companion’s company could possibly account for entertainment if I were bored enough…” By _Lucifer_ he was bored enough. There was nothing to do but _think_ until his incapacitated body finished working its way from the constant pain, to a blissful numbness. It was certainly _taking its time_ but Alastor just laughed harder at that because he had all of it in the world to wait! Now he just had to keep his thoughts safely away from his friend- _coworkers_ and _acquaintances…_

…Curse it all.

A groan escaped at the familiar lonesome feeling that gripped his chest in a vice, and his jaw snapped shut in frustration at his own traitorous train of thought. Alastor forced his teeth to unclench, his red eyes trailing blearily down to look away from the black on black on black- and down to the pathetic quivering mess he’d become. Thinking of _them_ was always a bad idea and, try as he might, he found that he couldn’t stop himself from shaking or his eyes from burning or the little hitches in his breath from becoming more apparent the longer he tried to control them. These little… “episodes” would only get more frequent as he thought of his- his _friends_ , not just coworkers, not just acquaintances- and they just kept getting _worse_.

What was he supposed to do when the dread crept up because of his messed up internal clock and the thoughts of his friends that forced their way to the forefront of his mind? Because surely it couldn’t have been weeks or months that had passed- they wouldn’t have _forgotten_ about him… right?

A whimper wrenched itself from Alastor’s throat, and his mouth snapped shut so fast he tasted iron. Charlie would be concerned, he realized as he removed his teeth from his healing tongue. With eyes nearly turning to radio dials and his claws sharpening at the tangy blood pooling in his mouth, the deer demon hurriedly swallowed, unable to disregard the coppery smell invading the otherwise senseless air and making his heart pound harder. His claws clutched at his already disheveled shirt while he struggled to get his breathing under control.

There wasn’t food. It was his own blood. He was being ridiculous. He absolutely would not turn here, not now, _not ever. Think of something else. He was in control; he would not let the Wendigo roam free here and waste even more energy._

…He was sure Angel would have some sexual remark for this situation.

Alastor let out a choked laugh at the _absurdity_ of the evasive thought, even as twin tracks of tears rolled down his face. He didn’t bother with wiping them away. This was something _different_ to think about, and yet, it was just barely better. He couldn’t believe he’d ever grown fond of the porn star considering what he _did_ for a living. The thought still made his face burn and his wavering smile twist into a grimace. Despite the discomfort, Alastor _had_ grown to appreciate their companionship, and Angel had proven himself to be tough and loyal colleague more than once.

The little moth demon however… Vaggie would take pleasure in his suffering, Alastor was _sure._ It didn’t matter that the last expression Alastor had seen on her face had been horror as he fell, the gunshot still ringing loudly in his head. Ears flicking lower, he decided not to pursue that train of thought.

Dear Husker certainly wouldn’t care! Alastor could and would ignore the memory of absolute _fury_ in the chimera’s eyes as a boot pressed into Alastor’s chest – _right on the bullet hole_ – setting fire to his lungs and sending blood bubbling up his throat. It didn’t mean a thing!

Now, Niffty… Alastor’s smile wavered, shrinking as small as its been in a while. He knew the little darling cared. He couldn’t even pretend otherwise; Especially not after she’d been screaming and crying the loudest. He remembered through blurry vision and smoky, blood clogged air that tears had been streaming down her face, all the while she screeched and clawed to get away from Husk who’d held her back. She would only have gotten herself hurt, and so Alastor felt grateful to the cat for stopping her.

Charlie… she was crying as well, but she also had fire in her eyes and horns bursting from her skull. She and Angel Dust – Alastor had never seen the porn star look so serious – had immediately moved to help him, hellfire wreathed around the princess like a halo and Angel brandishing six more guns than he’d held a second ago.

Of course, it hadn’t made a difference in the end. Alastor had still looked up, directly into the grinning screen of Vox, and saw nothing but triumph in his rival’s expression. The overlord had probably said something snarky, but Alastor couldn’t hear over the roaring in his ears. Instead he offered his widest grin and spit a glob of red at the other’s shoe.

A grimace graced the TV demon’s face, and the pressure doubled on Alastor’s chest, forcing out a pained gurgle as liquid filled his lungs – his lungs, his chest, parts of him that _weren’t healing_ , they were burning, because of _course_ Vox would have a holy weapon and Alastor was an _idiot_ for getting distracted and actually caring about the hotel and the people in it-

One hand clung to Vox’s leg while the other clawed at the ground for his microphone – _where was it_ – or for any dregs of magic to finish this fight the way it was _supposed_ to end, but _there. was. nothing._

He tilted his head back and the others appeared upside down in his vision for a brief moment. He widened his grin in what he hoped was a reassuring manner – though from the few terrified expressions that remained, he didn’t think it worked very well.

Angel Dust unleashed clip after clip of bullets into the surrounding demons, struggling to get to the TV overlord and put a bullet through his screen, to do something, _anything,_ but Alastor didn’t get to dwell on the lack of progress for long.

Cold steel brushed his hair aside, pressing against the red x on his forehead, and the deer demon’s eyes jerked forward again to stare down the barrel of the holy gun. If his heart was pounding faster at the idea of dying in a way similar to his human self, he was glad Vox was too busy gloating to notice. If he listened hard enough, Alastor worried he might even hear dogs baying in the distance.

“Well,” Vox sneered, voice resonating louder than the ringing in Alastor’s skull, “it’s really no surprise that things turned out this way. I think we both knew I’d win in the end. You’re obsolete; _old news._ ” His sneer curled up into a wider grin as he pulled the hammer back with a click. Alastor heard screams of protest. “You always did manage to get on my nerves, even _before_ you decided you were too good for me.” _Liar._ “Anyways… hope you enjoy your time in the Void, _Al!”_ Alastor watched his finger tighten on the trigger, unable to move, until his world exploded in deafening noise, blinding white light, and unimaginable _pain_. Then _everything stopped._

Darkness.

Silence.

Pain where it wasn’t supposed to be.

His chest, he knew, would feel like it was on fire, but he didn’t think his arms were supposed to burn or his stomach feel like it was caving in or his heart feel like it was exploding out of his ribcage. Why did he have to die in the most violent ways? He _was_ dying, wasn’t he? That’s what this had to be- he was dying all over again- because his lungs weren’t filled with liquid, but he couldn’t breathe, his head wasn’t bleeding from a bullet wound and yet his skull was filled with cotton, and his face was wet with something that was salty, that wasn’t sticky like blood.

Alastor’s eyes were wide open, but he couldn’t see anything, _why couldn’t he see, what was wrong with him_ \- his feverish gaze dragged itself down and hardly registered the crimson on crimson, the crimson on black, the blood dotting the ground around him, staining the void with brief flashes of color. His nose crinkled at the intense smell of iron pervading the air. His ears flattened against his head in an attempt to rid himself of the sound of nothing, then of ragged gasps that it took too long to realize were coming from _him._

A sharp twinge in his arm directed his disjointed attention back down, where he paled at the sight of his claws buried deep in the limbs. Punctures and gashes littered the entirety of his arms, likely the source of the crimson pooling beneath his trembling frame, and his skin was utterly ravaged at the unintended self-abuse. He yanked his claws out, – _he didn’t whimper_ – and fixed them around his stomach. He still couldn’t breathe.

He tried to take a deeper breath, but his lungs weren’t taking in air right.

Force the air out. _He couldn’t die again, could he?_

Take it in. _He was already dead; he couldn’t die again._

O-out. _He wouldn’t die, but his chest hurt so much._

I-In- in. _He needed to calm down._

O-Out. _He would be fine, he just needed to calm down._

In. _All he had to do was release the vice-like grip he had on himself._

Out. Slowly, bit by bit, his muscles untensed.

In. His spine uncurled; his arms relaxed.

Like a wire snapping the tension fled Alastor’s body, letting him go limp. He could’ve cried at the deep breath that forced sweet _sweet_ air into his lungs. He lay there for an undetermined amount of time, just breathing until the ache in his chest subsided to a tolerable level, praying he didn’t suddenly forget how to breathe again. He hated feeling like a prisoner to his own body whenever this happened, and he still had _no Lucifer-forsaken idea what ‘this’ even was._

The deer demon didn’t get to dwell on his racing thoughts long as exhaustion slammed back into him, pressing him further into the ground and turning his limbs to iron. He blinked half-lidded eyes, struggling to keep them open. Finally loosening the death grip on his arms, his claws fell limp to the ground while he curled up tighter.

Okay. Perhaps lying wasn’t the best thing to do to himself, considering his… less than ample mental state. Despite the fact that there was no one to be confident for, he didn’t let his smile falter, keeping it determinedly in place if not as small as it could be.

Maybe he was ready to concede that the others at the hotel _had_ cared about him entirely. Had _really_ cared, unlike his father who he hope would have a worse existence in Hell than him, or Vox who had happily put a knife in his back more than once. Letting his eyes finally slide shut, ignoring the tears streaming down his face, Alastor ran his tongue over his lips to taste the salt and winced even at _that_. Not being able to eat was really beginning to affect his tolerance for anything that had the slightest taste. He was from _Louisiana,_ where everything had flavor and spice and now, he wouldn’t ever be able to enjoy that again.

Alastor found himself crying more and more frequently, and he _hated_ it, but there wasn’t anything he could _do_ about these ridiculous, unwanted emotions. He couldn’t stop his heart from aching when thoughts of Charlie’s beaming acceptance forced their way into his mind. Thoughts of Vaggie’s fiery protectiveness, Husk’s begrudging companionship, Niffty’s utter adoration, Angel’s fierce loyalty. What was the point of this? Was he supposed to feel _bad_ for the things he’d done? _Was he supposed to repent for his sins here?_

It isn’t fair, he thought, even as another sob burst unbidden from between his clenched teeth. Even if Alastor was sorry, he couldn’t do a _thing_ about it. His hands shifted to grab at his ears and pulled until the ache travelled into his skull. He was just _so tired. So hungry. So weak._

How pathetic was he, falling apart at the slightest hint of loneliness? At the ravenous feeling tearing him apart? At one point would’ve argued that he was _better than this_ , but the last few moments made it clear that he wasn’t. His skin was too tight, pulled taut over his ribs, over his protruding spine. Every bone poked out and he could feel it. Even his shirt was beginning to hang over his already lanky frame. It was nothing compared to the cavern in his stomach or the throbbing in his heart, but he wouldn’t be enjoying the rest of his eternity alone.

The only relief to be had was that Alastor might be drained enough to _sleep_ instead of thinking until his head hurt more than it already did. With a quieter huff he scrubbed away the offending tears and brought his hands back down to curl against his chest. His coat would have made him more comfortable, but he’d lost it… quite a while ago.

It didn’t matter, he hummed, forcing his breaths to even out and pushing the pain to the back of his mind. Sleep wouldn’t be better, exactly – he always woke up looking like a deer in the headlights – but he might at least have a clearer head.

The static within him finally settled to a softer, soothing white noise. Alastor let a sigh of relief escape as his thoughts quieted with it and he was unconscious in a matter of seconds.

.

.

.

When Alastor awoke, it wasn’t sudden or with a humiliating cry threatening to break free. His mind was sluggish, and his limbs were slow to respond so he could assume his sleep had been interrupted, but that was _ridiculous_ considering there was nothing here to interrupt it! He shifted to sit up, a twinge from his arms jolting him into a more wakeful state. Letting out a soft groan at the more insistent ache from his chest, he sat upright, still feeling exceptionally confused.

“What in the nine circles,” he grumbled, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Alastor had been sure he was exhausted enough to sleep without disruptions for once in his time in the Void, so _what_ could possibly have woken him up?

He knew he was more sensitive and aware of his surroundings, but why would something different be happening _now_ of all times? Claws shifted to grip at his arms as his ears perked and swiveled, though he wasn’t expecting to hear anything besides the familiar silence that staled the air-

“Alastor?!”

His whole body jerked, ears flattening against his head as he scrambled to turn around. Alastor’s breathing stuttered. It felt like a punch knocked the air from his lungs when he turned around and locked eyes with the _last_ demon he’d expected to see.

“…what happened to you…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could've happened to get the Radio Demon hurt in that fight to begin with? Hm...
> 
> Anyways! ;3 There will be more to this series, and possibly a few oneshots! As always, I hope you enjoy and stay tuned~


	3. Devoid of Emotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor realizes he might not be hallucinating as an unlikely demon comes to his aid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided this fit better as an epilogue for this story than as the beginning of the next work in this series! No major TW for this chapter, though there is some minor cursing. Enjoy! ^^

Charlie was here. _Charlie Magne._ Princess of Hell. Alastor’s business partner turned friend was _here in the Void._

The thought was too good to be true. It was easier to believe she was a hallucination, because there was no way in _Hell_ that _his_ Charlie would have gotten herself killed and discarded into this personal little abyss for no reason. While it was a very ‘Charlie’ thing to do, he wouldn’t entertain the notion that she’d do something so selfless for _him_ of all demons. Was her being here even _possible?_ Mouth snapping shut from its slack-jawed state, Alastor tore his gaze away with a scowl.

“You’re not _real_ ,” he growled matter-of-factly, smile twisting into something bitter. The sound of her footsteps became muffled when he clamped his hands over his ears, frustration festering at the way his eyes burned yet again. Alastor’s mind was getting all the better at tormenting him, wasn’t it? Why else would he be thinking of her?

“What- Al? Of course I’m real!” No amount of pressure could block out the soft voice with familiar undertones of worry. _She isn’t real. She isn’t real. She isn’t-_

Her hand touched his shoulder and Alastor flinched violently, tail flashing up in surprise. A whine bubbled out of his chest as the hand jerked away, and the deer regretted having moved in the first place. He whirled around, eyes wide and trailing instantly to the retreating limb. The subtle press of her skin had been _warm, soft, comforting,_ and he _wanted it_ even if the contact made his own skin crawl at the now unfamiliar sensation. Touch was never needed, but he’d always enjoyed initiating it with those he claimed as friends – regardless of whether they agreed or not - and soaking in the attention he just _craved_ at times _._

“Alastor,” she started, quieter this time. “I don't know what happened to you,” the way her eyes flicked between his bloody claws and arms suggested otherwise, “but we need to leave _now._ ”

Alastor finally took a good look at the princess, forcing down the doubt and the hurt and the disbelief. Full-fledged horns adorned her head, and her teeth were sharpened to fine points, pushing away the passive persona she was known for. Three sets of wings sprouted from her back, a display of her demonic and fallen angel bloodlines working in tandem to create a truly intimidating figure. The most concerning thing was that there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on her face. Alastor wouldn’t call her weak, considering the power radiating off her, but _vulnerable_ seemed more appropriate. Despite the display, it was impossible to ignore the way Charlie’s face scrunched up in a mixture of strain and concern.

“Alastor please,” she winced, thrusting her hand out for him to take, “I can’t keep this place open to the both of us for much longer!”

The deer jolted away, fixing wide eyes on the outstretched hand. Breathing was becoming rather difficult as Alastor’s eyes flickered between the offered limb and the unguarded desperation in her expression.

This... was happening. Was any of it real? How did she get here? This wasn’t _possible_ and he couldn’t for the life of him understand _why._ Why, if she was real, would she be choosing to help him instead of being with the people he’d ensured would stay in Hell instead of being double-dead? It had become clearer to him the more he thought that there was a _reason_ it was him and not them that had their second chance at life taken. He didn’t deserve redemption. The very idea was _wasted_ on him, so _why the hell was Charlie trying to save him?_

“I… I can’t...” his voice came out in a horrified whisper rather than the confident declaration he’d been hoping for. Staring at the offered hand – _fake, not real, she can’t be here_ – he edged backwards, mind reeling.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, sympathy flooding her face, as she lunged forward to latch onto his wrist and pull him close. Alastor squirmed on reflex, panic flooding his mind as she pinned his back against her chest, her other arm curling around to stop flailing claws from gashing her. The static overwhelming Alastor’s brain threatened to spill out between his clenched teeth. It filled the silent air with crackling bursts, her hold making it feel as though ants were skittering under his skin. He’d _wanted_ to be touched for so long so _why did it feel so wrong? Why was he fighting it? He was supposed to be stronger than this-_

He might've heard her breathless ‘hold on!’ before her grip was tightening and her wings were beating hard enough to jostle the pair of them. Despite his panicked struggles making her job infinitely harder, Charlie didn't drop the flighty deer, managing to get their feet off any semblance of ground. The pressure on Alastor's chest doubled as they got higher (farther? Were they even moving? It was impossible to tell what was up or down-) and his nails dug into soft flesh while the air was forced from his lungs.

The void itself seemed to be resisting, dragging them down with every jerking movement as if they were moving through tar, like the abyss was trying to reclaim it's sole prisoner.

Charlie didn't let it. Hold constantly tightening, she pushed onward despite her choppy breathing, despite Alastor's own labored gasps and weakening kicks. Charlie’s wings were flapping frantically behind her. Alastor was becoming numb to it all. The rustling sounds, the smell of sweat, the pressure of arms burning into his own that was becoming too much. Static screeching turned to white noise, filling his head to the brim while his eyes slammed shut to quell the nausea rising in his throat.

“Alastor …just… bit farther,” her muffled voice came as though he were underwater. With every inhale stubbornly refusing to fill his chest he may as well have been trying to breathe in oil. The coil around his body was unbearably tight now as the void clung and fought to drag them deeper. Charlie cried out as the invisible barrier stretched further and further, the tension nearly overpowering them.

“Almost… there…!” Blood trickled from her arm where Alastor's claws dug in. His ears flattened against his head. He regretted not saying more to Charlie. She was actually here wasn’t she? Getting hurt for _him_ , and he didn't offer so much as a _hello._ He truly was the worst, wasn't he? That's what Alastor realized as her protective hold became painful.

Then the tension snapped.

In an instant Alastor was jarred from Charlie's grasp with a yelp, left to flail aimlessly in the dark. Feeling cold and alone once more, his mind went dangerously blank. Charlie let out a shriek somewhere off to the side but opening his eyes only led to the same endless black. The deer didn't have a second to panic before he was weightless, the pressure leaving him in one desperate breath. His vision was bombarded with light before he slammed into something hard, head connecting with a solid _thunk_ , and consciousness fleeing in the wake of pain then the numbness he’d been begging for.

.

.

.

Observing the maroon tinted room dully, Angel Dust wondered how he and Vaggie were the most logical choices to “standby” while Charlie did her _thing_. Sure, Vaggie was her girlfriend and most protective companion; and maybe Angel didn’t have anything else to do but make sure the princess got out of this alive, and he was understandably concerned when he first heard the idea, but… Okay maybe they _were_ the best options.

Despite this fact, Angel sighed for the umpteenth time that hour, observing his claws in apparent disinterest. Vaggie rolled her eyes at the spider’s fidgeting. Neither would admit it aloud, but the thickness in the air attested to their worry. They’d been alone in the Radio Demon’s room for quite a while, taking in the endless deer memorabilia and marveling at how Alastor had made his room look so… _1930s_.

Angel would find himself glancing at the radio on the nightstand, half expecting it to play an upbeat – _Lucifer he would even take a jazzy_ – tune, but it never did. Except for the occasional white noise, the radio had stayed eerily silent for the past five months.

None of them liked to talk about… what had happened… but it had obviously affected them all in different ways. Niffty had been inconsolable, burying herself in her work and cleaning the hotel until it shined and then cleaning it some more. Husk drowned himself in alcohol, staying blackout drunk and moodier than he normally was. Vaggie had been _livid_ , itching for a fight and exploding at even the most minor things. Charlie had been a mess, crying about how it had been _her_ fault somehow and that she should’ve done better despite attempts to console her. Angel had been… well, he’d gone back to the studio for a few weeks, and he didn’t even feel pleasured with the extra time he’d spent there.

After the Hazbin Hotel had taken off and gotten more patrons Alastor had managed to become even _more_ peppy and prone to impromptu dance-numbers. Angel had figured the deer demon was just getting his fill of entertainment – and at the beginning he’s sure that’s all it was – but as time flew by something… changed.

He didn’t know when Alastor’s smiles had become less creepy and turned softer or his touches less grabby (not that he _minded_ grabby) and more reassuring. There was something in the way the deer would cheerfully present another helping of his mama’s jambalaya that gave off such a… domestic vibe. His cooking had become expected, welcomed, and even _craved_ , though he would never admit it because Alastor used to look so _smug_ when they hurriedly piled seconds onto their plates. Even with the smug air about him it was hard not to notice the way the deer’s ears perked or his eyes lit up at the compliments to his cooking. A jaunty tune always filled the air when he was in such a good mood.

That’s why when the deer was suddenly _gone_ it had hit them all so hard.

“So… How long is this supposed to take?” Angel broke the silence with what he hoped was a nonchalant tone. The unimpressed look he received in return made him glad Vaggie didn’t point out the unsubtle way he’d broken the tense quiet.

“For the third time, _I don’t know_ ,” Vaggie grimaced, pulling her gaze away from the sheer amount of _red_ in the room to glare at Angel. “She’s never done something like this before! It took long enough to get her _ready_ for this trip…” She let out a sigh, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall. Even Vaggie had been heartbroken when… _it_ had happened, but Charlie had been _devastated._ She’d been adamant about finding _some way_ to bring him back and lo and behold…

Angel took a long look at her downcast face, eyebrows furrowing. With a huff he lowered the radio he’d been messing with back to the nightstand and strolled over to the moth demon.

“Eh, I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Charlie’s a strong gal, she’ll pull through!” Draping an arm across her shoulder, he held in a relieved sigh as she relaxed and took the comfort for what it was. “And _when_ she drags Smiles back to the land of the not-so-living, we’ll kick his ass for making us all worry so much!”

That earned a snort from Vaggie, and she flashed the spider a genuine smile that he gladly returned. Angel couldn’t ignore the way his heart warmed at the grateful look she gave him, and he hated to admit it, but he was glad he picked up a few more friends in his stay at this cheesy hotel…

A loud crash ruined the moment and the pair jumped, twisting around with wide eyes. Two bodies were crumpled on the floor. Angel almost didn’t realize the moth demon had rushed forward until she was crashing to her knees and dropping her summoned spear in favor of checking on their friends.

_“Gracias a Dios, they’re breathing!”_

Angel stayed frozen a moment longer, blinking at the overwhelming iron smell, the crimson spilling across the floor, and the way neither of them so much as _twitched_. Snapping out of his stupor, he opened his mouth to say something useful.

“Oh, _shit._ ”

The spider demon rushed forward to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear.


End file.
